it feels really biased that you only reblog art and fics from your friends. it doesn't help smaller authors get noticed. I wish you'd spread your net wider and include people outside your little bubble.
I don't get it. Why are you so nice to everyone? People online that treat you like garbage aren't going to change, but you never get angry. You never attack them. What's the point? You'll never see them. You don't know them. Why do you care so much about being nice?
What? Who treats me like that?? Lol you don’t know who’s messaging me, where they’re coming from, how old they are, what they’re going through. No one deserves mistreatment. If they come off as crass, who cares? I’m comfortable enough with myself and I am constantly boosted and supported by so many other people and messages to not really be phased by how they word their messages, and everyone deserves to be treated fairly. Respect begets respect and that’s how I’ll always try to live my life. I highly recommend it!
So Kevin comes in at like 1 in the morning, brand new tattoo on his face, and he's drunk as hell but he's making this surprisingly coherent speech about being the deadliest piece of the board, and I'm just sitting there not saying a word because I don't know a thing about chess.
There's a video on my computer containing cuts from every single time Andrew sent a ball flying into someone's head set to the Donky Kong theme song. It's two and a half hours.
Neil has this thing where bad things happening to him are like a matter of fact. Once, he and I met up for lunch, and when the bill came he asked if he could pay me back later because he got mugged on the way over. As it turns out, what I mistook for Neil being a picky eater was actually Neil trying to eat without upsetting a shallow stab wound.
I don't drink alcohol because you can't account for what you'll do when you're drunk. Though sometimes that turns out fun. About a year ago we found out that Matt knows how to sing Sweden's national anthem backwards by heart, and that was hilarious. But on the other hand I've had Allison and Nicky competing on who can break a glass with their voice at three in the morning, so.
Kevin is definitely seems like everything in his life is about Exy, but get to know him and you realize that he has plenty of interests, it's just that he has no concept of doing things in moderation. So it's less a stick up his butt and more like, I don't know, a pool noodle or something.
Neil doesn't have a concept of money, a fact which on any given day swings between hilarious and flat out tragic. He refused to pay $15.90 for new pants but said he'd pay for my med school if I stopped making fun of his new haircut. To be clear, both of these things happened in the same conversation.
I love God, I do. He's always in my heart. But I guess God has abandonment issues because every time I see a commercial for a McFlurry I can just feel him testing me.
The thing about the Foxes is that the stress level on any given day can fluctuate so wildly you get whiplash. One day you're getting yelled at for not blocking a shot, the next you're getting yelled at for "obstruction of justice" or whatever it is the Feds call it when you remind them that they can't come in without a search warrant. Why Wymack does this willingly is beyond me.
On the one hand, the Foxes are much less organized, not to mention a smaller team. Every game, we're at an almost immediate disadvantage. On the other hand, Ravens are contractually forbidden from Irish coffee. So overall the decision isn't hard.
Can we please just remember that literally the first thing Raphael did after he became a vampire was kill the vampire who had Turned him. He went looking for that vampire in order to protect his family and the fact that the vampire killed him still didn’t stop him.
He put himself through unimaginable agony in order to be able to say the word God, to hold a cross, to walk across consecrated ground, just so he could go home to his mother and not have her reject him.
He believed he was damned and never gave up on his faith.
He made extremely difficult decisions in order to stand by what he believed was right in both the books and the show.
Raphael is calculating and cold, but he’s also loyal and caring. He’s both. Let him be both.
I don't understand where all these new genders are coming from?!
They've always been around, you just haven't known about them.
I doubt that.
It's just like in school. Take math for example, at first we thought addition and subtraction was all there was, but then we learned about multiplaction, division, functions, entire areas of math that we didn't even know existed before. But we know it's real. Just cause you haven't known about something forever, doesn't mean it hasn't existed forever.
Dean barely notices when Sam runs into the house to investigate the nephilim situation. His eyes dart this way and that, taking in the tattered, broken wingspan spread out before him.
All of the times that he lost Cas, he never saw his wings. Not once. And it feels so…final.
Dean’s lips tremble as he casts his gaze upwards towards where he knows heaven is watching. He wonders if the angels care. He wonders if God cares.
He knows Chuck probably isn’t even in heaven, and maybe he has his ears turned off while he’s having the family meeting to end all family meetings with Amara, but he tries anyway. He wants to beg, bargain, and scream, but he’s not sure he can speak. He sends up a plea, his lips mouthing silent prayers.
The air is still. Too still. Deathly still.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut and slumps down to the ground. He bows his head down, but he can’t yet bear to look. Not yet. Not again.
He breathes, and it feels like a monumental effort. He is hyper aware of being alive, of his lungs filling with oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide, and suddenly he thinks he might understand why yoga helps to clear the mind. Maybe he’ll take it up. He could do with a nice, clear mind after…after…
He opens his eyes. Cas is there, but he isn’t.
Dean swallows against the burning lump in his throat as he reaches a hand out. Hand touches hand. One is cold.
Dean stares at the eyes and wills them to open as he curls his fingers around the still, cold hand. And finally, after much effort, he finds that he can speak.
“Please,” Dean pleads, his voice smaller than he thinks it has ever been. “Please. Cas. I need you.”
No. That’s not right. That’s not enough.
“I love you.”
Too late. He says it, finally, after all of these years, and it falls on deaf ears. Ears that will never hear those words.
Dean’s eyes sting. “Come back. Like you always do.” His voice cracks. “I love you. I love you. I love you. Please come back.”
The world is still. Too still.
He’s not coming back this time.
Dean folds himself over Cas’s body and finally allows himself to break.
He always loved playing at heroes. Six years old with a stick in his hand playing at swordfights, sixteen years old with his fists seized tight playing at back-alley wars.
yeah. people like us, like you and me and him–i think we’re all born like that.
He didn’t know what he was signing up for. He was just playing at heroes still, but this time they put a gun in his hands and dropped him on a battlefield and said go.
that’s just the way it goes, Child. that’s the way war goes.
I know–I was there too. We were all just kids still playing at heroes with blood on our hands. But no one taught us how to stop, you know? They taught us how to play at heroes, maybe even how to be heroes, but no one ever taught us how to stop.
it’s not their fault. it’s nobody’s fault. they didn’t teach you because they didn’t know how. because there’s no way to stop. it’s easy enough to become a hero, Child, but you can’t ever stop being one. you can hurt and you can even die, sometimes, but you can’t ever stop. it doesn’t work like that. it never did.
But why did no one tell us? Why did no one think to warn us?
but Child, if we all knew, do you think there’d be any heroes left in the world?
(talking to INFP and INFJ "freely" gives away some "secrets" about self)
I don't know how you can just tell people your life story...
*later that day*
(pokes INTP) Hey, remember my guarded friend?
Close enough. What do you think of how she doesn't like to reveal things about herself?
Well, if you don't have much to guard, you'll be that much more careful about what you reveal, right? One coin from a small storehouse is more noticeable than your ENTP warehouse of "WTF-where-did-all-this-sh*t-come-from?!".
You know it's quite amazing because people think you're being honest and social when you tell a story from your past because the level of detail and theatrics that go into the story-telling, but you really only tell 12-13% of what really happened.
Yes, and that's usually enough for people to open up to you and spill one of their valuable guarded secrets. *sigh* Humans are so easily manipulated.
Magnus, in a shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a hat on backwards:
Hi! Your name tag says "I am... BETTER THAN YOU" and I think you just cheated at arm-wrestling a guy, which I didn't even know was an option. Do you want to be friends?
Lup, taking a step back, complimentary mints cascading from her pockets:
Whoa, holy shit, muscleman. Do you think you could pick me up?
Definitely. I could probably throw you too. These puppies can handle a lot.
Lup, already trying to clamber onto his shoulders:
Benchpress me, my man.
Taako, running back over with his arms full of cheap plastic pens and fridge magnets:
Lup, no, don't let the strange human boy carry you, you don't know where he's been!
Taako, come on, we're gonna go find some really high shelves to raid. Or maybe just a library to hold dominion over. We're unstoppable now.
Magnus, helping himself to some pocket mints:
I heard there are training rooms somewhere.
in case you haven’t noticed, i’m weird. i’m a weirdo. i don’t fit in. something is very, very wrong with me. there’s this darkness in me, that’s overwhelming sometimes and i don’t know where it comes from.